


i need a hero (to save me now)

by Jace_Diaz_Of_Hell



Category: Star vs. The Forces Of Evil
Genre: F/M, Hostage Situations, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 04:34:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21488422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jace_Diaz_Of_Hell/pseuds/Jace_Diaz_Of_Hell
Summary: When Admani goes to fight on the front lines, he isnt as careful as he should be.
Relationships: Admani Lucitor/Cyclone Butterfly, Sol Butterfly/Squire Oksan- hinted





	i need a hero (to save me now)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InfernalPume](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfernalPume/gifts).

He and Cyclone have a fight.

Admani isn’t sure why this one is the breaking point for him; ever since his return, they have bickered on a regular basis. Sometimes he wonders if Cyclone is challenging him, trying to see how far she can push before he is done. Before he leaves again and doesn’t come back. 

He thinks he proves her wrong every time because he stays. 

But something is different this time. He’s not sure whether its the acid in her tone, or the fact that Sol was spotted on the front lines of a battle, or if Cyclone really and truly hates him and wants him gone, but something in the fight hits harder, hurts more. 

She accuses him, still, of being indecisive. Of not wanting to take a stand. He points out the fact that he’s stayed, that he has given her his soldiers and his guards and his  _ heart.  _

“For now, you have.” Is her reply.

And Admani can’t handle it. He can’t handle how Cyclone seems so sad and so angry all at once. He can’t take her casual barbs, her consistent references towards the fight that ended their relationship and possibly one of the few truly good things in his life. Can't stand the fact that he broke her heart .

So, the next day at the strategy meetings,  _ King  _ Admani Lucitor steps forwards, his shoulders squared, his voice devoid of emotion except for determination as he announces he will be fighting alongside his soldiers in the front lines of the next battle.

(He does not notice the way that Cyclone, Queen of Lies, stiffens in her throne behind him.)

Admani goes to the front lines and he fights, and he tries to put his former lover out of his mind. She never leaves it, is in fact the reason why he is more careful with his own life than he thought he would be, and that makes him angry. 

Angry people make mistakes. 

When he sees Sol, he doesn’t back down. He faces her, with her missing eye and her cold stare, and the magic, thick and venemous and  _ dark,  _ that warps around the once light girl. 

Sol laughs at him. Her laugh seems to split the air, makes her soldiers stop and stare at this woman they worship as a diety. 

Gold wrapped in purple surrounds her hand, which slashes in an outward motion silently.

On the battlefield, no one notices Admani’s collapse. It is not until the rebels beat a hasty retreat that Cyclone's troops realize their King is no longer with them. 

(When Cyclone recieves word Admani was taken hostage, she slips out to her garden. She tears at weeds and dirt and dead blooms viciously, hating her sister, hating Admani, hating the tears that prick at her eyes. She comes back hours later, with dry eyes and not a hair out of place.

She tries not to think of the fact that her sister  _ does not take prisoners _ . She tries to ignore the small, cynical voice in her head that questions if Admani is already dead.)

* * *

When Admani wakes, he is in a hastily constructed cell. It is not underground; he can smell the fresh air on the occasional drafts of wind.

His cell is kept positively freezing, something he's convinced is Sol's doing because of the frost that creeps up the bars of his cage. The cold makes him sluggish, stripped of his armor as he is. The thin cloth of his trousers and his sweater does nothing to prevent it.

He's frozen and aching from whatever spell Sol threw at him, too weak to stand (let alone  _ escape _ ) , but there's still a corner of his brain that resents the fact there are no guards posted by this cell.

He doesn't know how long he has been unconscious (two days.) He does not have a window or anything to let him mark the time passing by. Were it not for the weak flame he manages to summon, he would be in total darkness.

He wonders how long it will be before he is killed. 

Admani knows that the Sol he once knew is long dead- that the sweet, naive girl who just wanted to do the right thing died at her would-be coronation. He has spent so long counting the people she has destroyed, listening to their stories and trying to bring them peace in his domain. 

He knows that Sol the Youthful, leader of the Rebellion, does not take prisoners. 

So, when Oksan, her second-in-command (and lover, Admani suspects) enters the next day, he is fully prepared to be dragged out of his cell and killed. 

Instead, Oksan starts up a conversation with him. It throws Admani off, because even with the bars between him and the shackles on his hands, it almost doesn’t feel like prisoner and captor. It feels, just for a moment, like things used to be, when everything was lighthearted. When he had been sure this was just a falling-out, when he had been happily waiting for the right opportunity to propose to Cyclone, to offer her the throne in the Underworld she had  _ known  _ was hers before he ever had. 

Admani stops questioning why Oksan was able to so easily sway so much of the Mewman army to the rebellion’s side. 

Oksan gracefully manages to avoid talking about the war, somehow. He brings up Admani’s fathers, wonders if they’re doing well. Tells him about how he told a joke so amusing Sol could hardly stand up, and how he was glad because she had been stressed. Even slips in a teasing joke about Admani and Cyclone’s relationship. 

Admani stays silent, and eventually Oksan huffs. 

“You’re not giving me much to work with here.” He says, and then approaches closer. “But I guess right now isn’t the time to be socializing. I only came to feed you, after all.”

He unlocks the cell, and steps inside, and Admani understands now why Cyclone had been almost disgusted with how loyal Oksan was to Sol.

Over his left eye ( _ the same eye that Sol is missing _ ), there is an ugly, pinkish red, self inflicted scar. 

* * *

Admani’s younger sister Asmia arrives upon recieving news about her brother’s situation. She is set to rule in his place, but the crown is not what she wants. She is more than content with the title of General, awarded to her for her brilliant strategizing and her clear mind and actions in battle. 

Her four eyes blink as she stares down Cyclone’s court after announcing her intentions to find and invade the rebel’s camp, to rescue her brother and king. Slowly, each eyelid closing a fraction of a second after the other, and opening all at once. 

Cyclone admires her steadfastness, how different this woman is from the chubby, excitable girl ten years her junior that Cyclone used to know. She finds the more analytical part of her mind notes that if the rescue attempt fails, Asmia would be a formidable queen. 

She squashes this part of her brain, but it isn’t as easy as squashing the protests of her court. For that, all she needs is to find the right words and the right angle. 

But even the Queen of Lies can’t lie to herself, no matter how hard she tries to believe it will be okay in the end. 

* * *

Admani is kept in the dark for what Oksan informs him is another three days before he sees daylight.

His cell is opened, and he is hefted onto his feet, made weak from the cold conditions and scant meals. 

He tries to lift his feet, to move with them and is instead half-pulled behind them. It makes him feel sick, makes his lip curl with disdain at his current loss of dignity. 

He’s hauled through the camp with Oksan at his right and a soldier he doesn’t recognize at his left. She peers at him clinically, scoffs and mutters something about entitled royalty. Oksan chuckles. 

Dead in the center of the camp is where he’s dragged, to a small house built by magic. 

When he steps inside, he is brought to see Sol. Before she looks at him, it seems almost normal- she is wearing a long sleeved, casual dress with tights underneath, her hair in a ponytail as she holds a quill in her hand. But then Oksan drops Admani to his knees, bows and announces their presence, and her gaze slides up. 

Admani feels, again, that venemous, cold thing that has taken hold of her. 

Unlike her supposed lover, she doesn’t bother with pleasantries. It’s clear this is meant to be an interrogation. 

Admani isn’t sure what the specific reason is he can’t concentrate; whether it is how alien this once familiar woman looks, or her incessant questions, or the guards at his side- or,  _ maybe,  _ the wine-cellar like wall behind Sol. Instead of wine, in each cubby protected by glass sits an enchanted, beating heart. They glow softly, giving the whole room the appearance of embers. 

Sol’s line of questioning grows frustrated after a while. 

“Is there  _ anything  _ I can ask that you will answer to?”

Suddenly, Admani is enraged. She has killed numerous people, has sparked a  _ civil war  _ , has taken a  _ King  _ hostage and thinks she has the right to be indignant. 

He opens all three of his eyes, making it clear he is making eye contact with her. 

“Fuck you, Your  _ Majesty.  _ “ He spits. 

Sol raises one eyebrow, smoothly, and somehow it doesn’t change her expression any less. She just looks like a disapproving woman watching her friend do something they’ll regret. 

Oksan, on the other hand, practically transforms- he snarls, his fists lashing out to punch Admani in the face, and kicking him when he’s down. 

It goes on for only about a minute, but Admani is surprised to taste blood in his mouth. 

“Oksan.” Sol says, and her voice is so  _ odd-  _ as though talking to a lover, a coworker, and a subordinate all at once. “ I think he’s had enough. Take him back to his quarters. And replace that shirt of his; I’m afraid we’ve gotten it all bloody. And his  _ highness  _ deserves more.”

Admani can’t tell what she means by that- knows it’s meant to sting him in some way. Oksan kicks him hard, one last time for good measure, and then Sol waves a hand and everything suddenly  _ hurts,  _ like he was slammed through a stone wall. Admani is grateful when blackness overtakes everything else. 

* * *

Cyclone would recognize that sweater anywhere; its one of Admani’s favorites. It’s a soft, gray turtleneck that was comfortably worn, but not enough to start getting holes. During happier times, she had stolen it once or twice. 

Currently it is lying flat on the surface of the table, having been lifted out of a stained parcel. The front of it is torn open- not by simple wear, and not by accident. The holes are about the size of someone’s boot.

That’s without the blood that’s spattered across it. 

For one brief, ridiculously naive moment, Cyclone hopes it’s a coincidence. 

Asmia smashes that by pointing out the small singe marks that go hand in hand with the blood, the sure mark it is at least part demon and not mewman. 

And Cyclone sees red. She does not want this war, is a pacifist at heart, but thinking of Admani broken and bleeding somewhere makes her  _ seethe.  _ Someone, some member of her Court who clearly doesn’t know decorum questions if they should revisit the idea the Underworld’s king might be dead. 

Her breath hitches in her throat, and she tries to scramble for a diplomatic way to say  _ what the hell is wrong with you,  _ but General ( _ Crown Princess,  _ a nasty voice whispers) Asmia beats her to the punch. 

“Until we find explicit proof, such as a  _ body,”  _ Asmia says, “the Underworld’s ruler remains my brother. If Queen Cyclone went missing today, would you begin blindly following her sister a mere week later?”

It’s more blunt than Cyclone would have put it, but the affronted gasps and murmurs that fill the hall prove that the job was done all the same. 

Asmia’s eyes flash.

“Precisely. Nor do I expect my brother’s people to begin following me.”

They stop with pushing to declare Admani dead, but their respect for Asmia only seems to grow. 

* * *

It’s repetitive. And honestly, it’s boring as shit. 

His cell is dark and cold and too tiny to properly move in. He gets roughly one meal a day. Oksan brings it to him and tries to hold a conversation and brings him to Sol. Sol asks questions until she pisses Admani off, Admani shoots off his mouth, and Oksan goes feral. 

Sol is getting sick of it, he knows. He’s sure that she won’t take much more of him being flippant, and he knows that his chances of living go down with each and every day. He knows how easy it would be for her to kill him; he’s had the chance to witness her crushing hearts and skulls alike on the battlefield. 

He huddles up in the corner of his cell, and he traces the wounds on his skin (steadily getting worse from repeated re-openings; he’s fairly sure infection is setting in). He wonders how he will die; he hopes it will be fast. 

He thinks about the things he regrets- and it all revolves around  _ her.  _ He regrets leaving her, breaking her heart. He regrets not being there for her for over a year. He regrets their fights and his last words to her, and he thinks of how much he loves her still. 

He sits in his cell and thinks of Cyclone, and he feels warmth for the first time in days. 

* * *

Scouting troops are failing to find him. Sol hasn’t sent any taunts since the tattered sweater.

They’re getting desperate by the time Cyclone thinks of a solution, and almost scowls with how obvious it is. She can’t do it on her own, unfortunately, but she thinks she knows someone who’s willing to help her. 

She wastes absolutely no time in inviting Queen Eclipsa to the part of Mewni she rules over. 

Eclipsa, who has seen her grow up, has watched her and Admani and Sol for decades, doesn’t even bother with pleasantries like small talk. 

“Cyclone, dear, is there anything I can do to help?”

Cyclone loves her. 

She nods, and takes a deep breath. 

“You can cast the All-Seeing Eye spell for me.”

* * *

Admani estimates he’s been a prisoner for fifteen days when Sol’s patience runs out. 

She asks the same questions she always does-  _ Where are your soldiers stationed? Which battalions are spread the thinnest? When are times my sister is vulnerable? _

When he doesn’t answer, Sol glares at him, her expression disapproving and disappointed. 

“Maybe,” She says, “I should give you some motivation.”

She takes three steps forward, and nods at Oksan slightly, who yanks Admani to his feet. Sol lays her hand on his chest, gently, almost like a caress as she makes eye contact with him. 

And then her hand sinks into his chest and its on  _ fire  _ but in the bad way that means pain, like her hand is molten steel and it’s all he can do not to lose consciousness on the spot as she pulls his heart out. 

“Tell me,” She says flatly, “what you know.”

Admani shakes his head, and she squeezes his heart slightly, just her fingertips. 

It’s agony. He wants to yell. He refuses to give her the satisfaction and instead bites his lip so hard it bleeds. 

She asks, again.

“I know,” Admani says, gasping for air, “that you’re a  _ bitch.” _

Oh, and now he’s set Oksan off again, and Oksan is growling about how Admani isn’t even fit to be in Sol’s presence. God, he can’t stand this. It’s ridiculous. 

Between his anger at them and the pain he’s in, any filter for his speech he might have had is non-existent. 

“For the love of God, Sol, call off your boy toy.” He snaps, and he thinks flames flicker at his feet, but he’s not sure. “Shut your fucking mouth while you’re at it- I think we both know I would rather die than tell you anything.”

Oksan sputters indignantly, whether at the  _ boy toy  _ comment or the way Admani talks to Sol, he doesn’t know. 

“Then,” Sol says softly, “I guess you’ve made your choice.” 

And the pain somehow  _ increases  _ as she begins to force her hand closed. 

Admani closes his eyes and prepares for death. He isn’t even surprised when his thoughts finally drift to Cyclone, to the way she used to smile, to the way it used to feel to hold her. 

He can hear cracking in Sol’s hand.

_ I love you.  _ He thinks, picturing Cyclone.  _ I love you so much.  _

He waits for silence to overcome, waits to wake up in the Underworld and take his place as another soul among the Underworld’s subjects. 

Instead, what happens is a soldier rushes in the door. 

“The scouts have spotted soldiers incoming.” She says urgently. “Demons  _ and  _ mewmans. They know we’re here, there’s too many of them, and  _ Cyclone  _ is wi-”

Sol holds up a free hand. It’s shaking slightly, and Admani can see the rage in her face.

“Have we evacuated yet?”

“Beginning procedures now.” The soldier says.

“Good. Speed it up. We aren’t prepared for a battle here yet.” Sol says, and the soldier leaves. 

Sol waves her hand, and all of the items in the room- the plans on the desk, the shelf with its heart trophies- vanish, sucked through a golden and purple portal. 

She looks down at the heart in her hand, and seems almost surprised to find it there. Her fingers curl around the organ and Admani braces for the pain again-

Only to find her forcibly shoving it back in his chest.

“Tell my sister,” Sol says, whispering to him, “Of the gift I have given her today.”

Admani collapses to the floor as the pain courses through him, and he doesn’t see Sol or Oksan leave as a result. 

He tries to keep his eyes closed, blackness fading in and out, and he tries to survive the pain. He’s not sure how long it is when there’s a sudden cacophony of noise and the sound of his sister shouting their location out the door and-

And Cyclone is bursting through the doors, crossing the room to pull him up into a position a little more dignified than crumpled on the floor. 

His vision is blurry, and he’s teetering on the edge of consciousness, but he can see relief in Cyclone’s eyes and he swears he can see a thin sheen of tears. He can’t blame her because he started crying the moment she walked in. 

Admani knows this isn’t how he should be seen as King, but at the moment, he can’t find it within himself to give a damn about the sobs that are wracking his body.

“Cy,” He says, and his voice is little more than a whisper, “Cy, I’m so sorry, I thought I was going to- She was going to k-”

He’s cut off by an ugly round of coughing, which pushes him over the edge. As he fades out of awareness he swears he can feel her pull him closer, hold him tighter.

"I'm here." She whispers to him. "I'm here."


End file.
